


In Vested

by Bunnywest



Series: Suit 'Verse [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Corsetry, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Polyamory, Stiles Stilinski is a Tease, Suit Shop AU, Threesome - M/M/M, Werewolf Chris Argent, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 22:43:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20608553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: Chris is distracted, and while Stiles loves him dearly, he refuses to be ignored.He and Peter put their heads together, and between them come up with a something that's guaranteed to ensure their errant husband is focussed on them, and only them.All it takes is placing an order to a particular website, and some deep breaths.





	In Vested

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DiscontentedWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscontentedWinter/gifts).

> Inspired by [This tumblr post](https://bunnywest.tumblr.com/post/187499355896/credit-to-innova-corsetry-yall-oh-my-god-why)
> 
> All credit to [Twisted_Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind) for pointing and flailing and going "Suitshop suitshop suitshop!!"  
As always, she was bang on the money.

Chris is preoccupied.

Stiles knows Chris is preoccupied, because it’s been exactly twenty-three days since Chris wanted to have sex. It’s not that he keeps a record per se, it’s just that last time was the full moon, and it was truly memorable.

And he’s not just neglecting Stiles. Peter’s been distinctly put out at the lack of attention as well. Stiles and Peter still make love, and it’s just as great as always, but it’s just not the same without their third. It’s not that there’s anything wrong, Stiles knows that – Chris doesn’t smell guilty or panicked or afraid, anything that would send up a red flag - it’s more, Stiles suspects, that Chris has gotten tied up in the minutae of everyday life, and after three years together, they’ve all gotten a little complacent. 

Stiles has cut him some slack up till now, but last night Chris rolled into bed late and never even bothered to kiss them goodnight, and Stiles has decided enough is enough. He spent long enough watching his dad get into the same kind of distracted funk when he was younger, watched him ignoring everyone around him, and he didn’t sign up for that. Chris has already left for work, so Stiles grabs his tablet, takes it into the bedroom where Peter’s getting dressed after his shower, and tosses it on the bed. “Our husband needs to be reminded we exist,” he declares.

And fine, he knows they’re not _technically _married, but he likes the way it sounds, okay? And his guys do too – the first time Stiles used the term _‘husban_d’ Peter had swept him off his feet and carried him to bed, Chris following closely on his heels, and they’d kept him there for hours showing him _exactly_ how much they liked it. Anyway. Point is, they need to do something, and Stiles has stumbled on the solution.

Peter picks up the screen and when he sees what’s on there, his eyebrows raise and he gives Stiles a wicked grin. “Oh, these are delicious. He’ll certainly pay attention. In fact, they’ll drive him wild.”

Stiles moves closer and sneaks a hand inside Peter’s soft sleep tee, teasing his abs. “Right?”

Peter flicks through the website, his grin widening. “I’m rather taken with the blue. We _are_ both getting one, right?”

Stiles nods and produces a tape measure. It’s the work of minutes to follow the instructions on the website and the they’re ready to send off their measurements. Stiles frowns at the advertised wait time, but Peter just holds up a finger, picks up his phone and makes a call. Stiles is beyond impressed when using a combination of charm, his professional standing, and an offer to pay extra, it’s the work of minutes for Peter to arrange for theirs to be a rush order.

They’ll be here in a week.

* * *

Stiles is impatient, and if it was up to him he’d already be wearing his new purchase and waiting for Chris at the front door, but Peter tuts at him and confiscates the box, tugging it from his hands. “Oh no, sweetheart. We need to have him focused on nothing but us, make him _want_. Here’s what I suggest.”

He outlines his plan. Stiles is aware that Peter knows what makes Chris tick far better than he does, so he’s more than willing to follow his lead, especially if it will result in getting Chris to unwind some. “Did you plot and scheme like this when you wanted to ask me out?”

“I absolutely did. And look how well that worked out.” Peter nuzzles the side of Stiles’s neck, putting the box on the kitchen table so his hands are free.

Stiles tips his head to the side to give Peter better access, and lets himself be backed against the wall, lets Peter’s hands and mouth roam at will until he’s achingly hard. “We have time?” Stiles asks, slightly breathless.

“We have time for _this_,” Peter replies, dropping to his knees, and then all discussion about the seduction of their husband is set aside for the time being, because Peter has his mouth full and Stiles can’t form words.

Afterwards though, they agree.

Tomorrow.

Chris won’t know what’s hit him.

* * *

Stiles deliberately dawdles the following morning, and when he catches Chris checking his watch for the fourth time, he waves him out the door. “I think I’ll start late today. You can manage the morning on your own, right?”

Chris huffs a little, but after a quick peck on the cheek he leaves, and Stiles can finally, finally get dressed. Peter helps, or rather he _says_ he’s helping – he mainly just runs his hands over Stiles’s waist and breathes out “Stunning, sweetheart,” until Stiles has to slap his hands away in an effort to keep Peter focussed on the task at hand.

Getting Peter to behave turns out to be a lost cause - partly because they’re both keyed up and jittery with anticipation, and partly because Peter’s always been very persuasive, and can play Stiles’s body like a fiddle. The new clothing comes back off, and they end up tumbling back into bed for an hour of highly satisfactory making out and frankly filthy grinding, culminating in a messy hand job. Once they make it out of bed (again), and Stiles is dressed (again), buttoned and laced up to both of their satisfaction, Stiles looks at himself in the mirror, assessing. He turns to Peter and says “Well, I’d do me.” Peter hums his agreement, and Stiles has to peel Peter’s hands off him all over again. He needs to hurry, or he really will be late.

Stiles slips a jacket over top of his new vest and does up the single button to hide what’s underneath – Peter was very clear that he needs to choose his moment to show Chris exactly what he’s wearing, and that he’s not, under any circumstances, to let Chris get his hands on him. The shop’s been busy enough that Stiles doesn’t think that’ll be a problem – part of the reason Chris is distracted is that they’re snowed under.

Peter has the day off, but he plans on coming in later this afternoon, wearing his own purchase. He’s confident that Chris won’t be able to keep his eyes off them, but he plans to make him wait, make him beg. “Hunger is the best sauce,” he says knowingly.

“You really are devious, you know that?” Stiles means it as a compliment.

“How else am I meant to get what I want?” Peter’s hand drifts towards Stiles’s suit button, and Stiles slaps it away. Again.

“Later. I have to go.” Stiles leans in carefully for a kiss – it takes some getting used to, moving with the steel boning encasing him, but he likes it, likes the sensation of being held and strapped in place. If this goes how he thinks it will, he’ll definitely be adding a few more pieces like this to his wardrobe.

* * *

Stiles plays it cool when he gets to work just before noon, serving customers and tidying the racks while Chris goes for lunch. He knows he looks different, that his back’s straighter and his shoulders have a certain set to them, catches Chris eyeing him a couple of times, but he does his best to act naturally. He needs to pick his moment.

His moment turns out to be later in the afternoon, when there’s a lull between customers. There are some shirts that need to be hung on the upper rails, and instead of using the long pole like he normally would, Stiles grabs the stepladder. Chris is busy putting out a new range of cufflinks, so Stiles calls out, “Hey, grab my jacket?” to get his attention. He undoes the button and shrugs said jacket off, throwing it casually over the rail of the ladder and revealing what’s underneath.

There’s a loud clatter, and when Stiles looks back over his shoulder, Chris is standing and staring, mouth hanging open and twenty sets of cufflinks scattered on the ground where he dropped the box. _“What is that?”_ he growls out, and Stiles grins to himself.

“Oh, this? It’s a corset vest.” And then he takes another step up the ladder, putting himself firmly out of reach, and begins hanging the shirts, ensuring he stretches out as far as he can to emphasise the way the vest shows off the long, lean lines of his body.

What Stiles is wearing is a dove grey, steel boned corset-vest with dark trim along the boning and laces that run all the way up the back. It had taken Peter three tries to get them done tightly enough so they’re firm but not constricting, and Stiles knows he looks fantastic, his waist perfectly defined and the swell of his ass highlighted just so. Chris takes a step toward him, mouth hanging open. “Where did you get that?”

“Internet,” Stiles says breezily, as if it was just something he picked up for fun, no big deal, and not something custom made to his measurements to entice his wayward husband. He finishes hanging the shirts and gets off the ladder, folding it and holding it in front of his body as he carries it to the back room, effectively blocking Chris from getting his hands on him. Stiles isn’t sure if that’s actually going to be possible, judging from the gleam in Chris’s eye and the way he’s advancing on him, but then the bell on the front counter rings, and Stiles is safe.

He stays out the back for a minute or two, and when he peeks out to check, Chris is busy serving. Stiles gives quiet thanks for people who can’t choose a tie without guidance, saunters back out onto the shop floor and starts picking up the dropped cufflinks. He kneels in such a way that it gives Chris a clear view of his cinched in waistline, and notes the way Chris’s eyes keep straying to him, naked want written on his face. Once Chris’s customer has left, he’s at Stiles’s side in a flash, a hand firmly in the small of his back. “Oh, sweet thing. Look at you,” Chris’s gaze is hungry.

Stiles lets Chris admire him for approximately five seconds before snaking out of his grasp and striding to the front of the store where a man’s just wandered in. “How can I help today?” he asks, and proceeds to give the customer his full attention for the next twenty minutes, ignoring his husband completely.

And then there’s a string of other customers, and a wedding party with _nine_ groomsmen. They’re both too busy measuring and pinning and matching ties and shirts for Chris to do more than lay a hand on Stiles’s shoulder in passing, casting him pleading glances that Stiles pretends not to notice.

It’s probably cruel to duck and weave and dance away from Chris’s touch all day the way he does, but Stiles does it anyway, Peter’s advice ringing in his ears. _Tease him, sweetheart, you’re so very good at it. _And tease he does. He stretches and yawns, places his hands in the small of his back and arches as much as he can, and finds five different excuses to brush against Chris’s back, almost but not quite touching. Stiles can smell the arousal and frustration thick in the air, and if he feels a little smug at being the cause of it, enjoys Chris’s suffering a little too much, well he doesn’t think it’s unwarranted after twenty-three very long days of neglect.

Before he knows it it’s four o’clock, and there’s a lull that Chris is quick to try and take advantage of. He slides up behind Stiles and wraps a hand round his waist. “Come out back, baby?” he purrs. “That damn vest’s giving me ideas.”

Which, of course, was the plan, but Stiles doesn’t say that. Instead he places a soft kiss to Chris’s forehead and ducks past him, muttering, “Customers.” When he glances back over his shoulder, Chris is standing at the door, watching him as if transfixed. He pulls out his phone and texts Peter.

_Hurry up, I don’t think I can hold him off much longer._

**On my way. **

Stiles slips his phone back in his pocket and attends to the two teenagers looking for dress pants, taking his time. They've just left when he’s treated to the deeply satisfying sight of Chris choking on air when Peter waltzes in the door in all his sartorial glory.

Peter’s corset vest is deep blue with black trim along the boning, and he's paired it with a black shirt. The color of the vest brings out his eyes, and it's cut in such a way that it highlights his muscled chest and thick neck. He looks hotter than sin. Stiles wants to lick him, or throw him against a wall and fuck him. Or something.

From the look on Chris's face, he feels the same. But Peter ignores Chris to greet Stiles and press a quick peck to his cheek. “Hello, sweetheart.” Chris approaches, one hand extended like he wants to grab both of them and whisk them out the back, but Peter shoves at his chest lightly and says, “Not at work,” which Stiles can’t help but think is rich, coming from him. Chris opens his mouth to object, but once again a customer saves the day, the man asking Chris whether they stock blazers.

Stiles barely manages to hold in his laughter when Peter makes a point of putting himself in Chris’s eyeline while he’s serving, blatantly posing in a way that shows off the way the boning hugs his pec muscles, then getting on his hands and knees to search for a non-existent coin under the counter, his ass swaying temptingly. Chris’s eyes keep straying from the customer, and it’s obvious he’s struggling.

If Stiles was a good person, he’d rescue Chris, make Peter behave.

Stiles never claimed to be a good person.

When Chris heads towards the counter to ring up his customer’s purchases, Stiles takes Peter by the wrist and leads him into the back room, but he makes sure to stand where he knows Chris can still see them from the till. Then he tangles his hands in Peter’s hair and tugs his head back, licking up the side of his neck. Peter lets out an obscene moan, and Chris’s head whips around at the sound. Stiles chooses that moment to cup Peter’s ass and tug him closer, and Peter murmurs, “I love you in this, baby, all laced up tight for me.”

Stiles and Peter exchange a look, and Stiles pitches his voice low so only Chris will hear him. _“Fuck me in it, Alpha?”_ There’s the clatter of coins and the sound of Chris clearing his throat and apologizing to the customer as he fumbles the man’s change. Stiles glances over and Chris is stuffing the blazer hastily into a bag, barely folded, and practically shoving the man towards the door. He flips the sign over to closed and slams the door shut, apparently unconcerned that it’s an hour before closing.

Chris _stalks_ towards them, there’s no other word for it_. “What. The actual. Fuck?”_ he hisses. “I’m trying to work here and you two turn up looking like” – he waves a hand helplessly – _“that.”_

Stiles stays wrapped around Peter, but he does give Chris his attention then. “We thought we’d surprise you.” He lowers his head and looks coyly at Chris through his lashes, then extends a single claw and runs it slowly down the back of Peter’s corset, letting it catch and drag on the lacing as it goes, the series of quiet _thwck_ sounds loud in the silence of the empty shop. Stiles licks his lips. “Like what you see?”

Chris growls low in his throat, and Peter laughs. “Oh, Christopher, you should see yourself right now.” And then Peter’s grabbing a handful of Chris’s tie and pulling him in close, spinning him around so Peter’s behind him holding him in place and Stiles get to lean in and kiss Chris long and slow and deep. Chris tries to move his arms, get his hands on Stiles’s vest, but Peter holds him firm, arms entangled. “Ah ah ah,” he chides. “You can look, but you can’t touch – not until we get you home.” Peter nods at Stiles. “Show Christopher just how much we’ve missed him, sweet boy.”

Stiles drops to his knees and shuffles forwards, the sight making Chris whine. Stiles undoes Chris’s belt and fly, pulling out his cock and tracing his tongue up the length, following with tiny hot puffs of air that make Chris shudder. A happy sound escapes Stiles– it’s been too long since they did this, and Chris’s cock has always been a thing of beauty. He brings Chris to full hardness, taking his time, savoring the experience. The sounds Chris is making are music to his ears, so Stiles flicks his tongue across the head of Chris’s cock in an effort to draw more of them out. He’s vaguely aware of Peter murmuring in Chris’s ear as he holds him in place, hears snippets of utter filth, knows it will be driving Chris crazy. When Stiles glances up Chris has his head thrown back, mouth open, and Peter’s grinning like the devil himself as he sets about placing wet, sloppy kisses along the side of Chris’s neck.

Chris’s hips are making tiny rocking motions, and he’s mumbling ‘_fuckfuckfuck’_ under his breath, so Stiles decides to be nice. He tilts his head and takes Chris all the way, using all the tricks he knows to drive him wild - it doesn’t take much. Chris lets out a deep growl, and Stiles hums and swallows and licks, worshipful, and before long his mouth is flooding with precome. He tongues at Chris’s slit while slipping a hand between Chris’s legs and fondling his balls, rolling them roughly in his palm, and then he does the thing with his tongue that Chris loves. Chris gives a last desperate thrust, tenses, and then he’s coming down Stiles’s throat.

Stiles does his best to swallow, but there’s a lot, and some leaks out of the corner of his mouth. He flicks his tongue out to catch it and grins up at Chris, who’s staring down at him slack-jawed and loose-limbed, all his weight resting on Peter. “Damn, baby,” Chris finally gets out, while Peter steers him to the chair in the corner of the room and props him there. “I - it – that –“ Chris seems to give up on words, and just waves a hand vaguely.

“I think you broke him,” Peter observes with a smirk.

Chris nods, but he has a fucked-out smile on his face, so Stiles doesn’t think he really minds. Stiles eases up off his knees and steps back, and Peter straddles Chris’s lap, lacing his fingers together behind his head and tilting it back, gazing down into Chris’s eyes. “Now that we have your attention sweetheart, take us home and spoil us like we deserve?”

Chris blinks a couple of times. “Register?”

Peter gives an eyeroll, climbs out of Chris’s lap, walks over and pulls out the cash drawer, then shoves the whole thing in the safe. “We’ll deal with it in the morning. We have more important business tonight.” He runs a fingertip lightly down the boning of his corset, and Chris’s eyes track the movement avidly before he nods his agreement.

“Home.”

* * *

It takes Stiles a hot minute to get his key in the lock, mainly because there’s a body pressed against his back and broad palms encircling his waist, Chris crowding in close and telling him exactly what he’s going to do. “Gonna fuck you so deep baby, keep you in this corset and take you from behind.”

Stiles drops his keys.

Peter huffs out a laugh and unlocks the front door, and then they’re inside, a tangle of limbs as Chris tries to touch them both at once. “These fucking things,” he grumbles, stroking the front of Peter’s corset. “Damn near had a stroke watching you two assholes.”

Peter smirks. “Well that was the plan, sweetheart. You’ve been away with the fairies recently, so we thought we’d bring you back to earth.” And without further ado, he hoists Chris over his shoulder and carries him upstairs like he weighs nothing, giving his ass a playful slap as he goes. Chris makes a token noise of outrage, but Stiles can tell he doesn’t mean it, and evidently so can Peter. “Hush. You’ll listen to your Alpha and you’ll let us take care of you.”

He dumps Chris on the bed without ceremony and turns to Stiles, who’s following close on his heels. Peter wraps an arm round his waist and reels him in for a kiss. Stiles goes willingly. It’s been too long since it was the three of them, and a wave of sheer want surges through his belly. Stiles can feel Chris’s eyes on them, so he makes sure to put on a show, moaning and tangling his hands in Peter’s hair, arching his back as much as he’s able in the corset, tilting his head back to expose the pale skin of his neck.

Chris lets out a low growl, and when Stiles glances over Chris is staring avidly. He’s sitting on the side of the bed and is toeing off his dress shoes at the same time as he undoes his pants, shoving the whole lot down and shucking out of them to reveal that he’s hard again. He peels his shirt over his head, not even bothering to undo the buttons. Once he’s naked, Chris settles back on the bed, stroking himself slowly.

Stiles tugs at Peter’s hair and nods towards the bed, and Peter makes a noise of assent. Stiles crawls up the bed and straddles Chris, still fully dressed, grinding against him. “So, you say you wanna fuck me in this thing?” he teases.

“You know it, baby.” Chris holds Stiles in place, hands on his hips.

Peter crawls up the other side of the bed so they’re flanking Chris. “Maybe I’ll fuck him first,” he muses. “Open him up for you. It’s been a while, and you know you’re big.” It’s not quite a rebuke. Then Peter gets up on his knees and starts to slowly, slowly, unfasten the front of his vest. Chris stares, his fascination evident as Peter rolls his shoulders and takes a deep breath when the last hook and eye on the front of the vest is undone. Peter flicks the buttons on his shirt open next, exposing tanned, muscled flesh, running a hand down his chest to his belt buckle and pausing for just a moment before undoing that as well and easing his zipper down. He nods at Stiles. ”Hands and knees, sweet boy.”

Stiles takes the time to strip out of his dress pants and positions himself. The corset forces him to adjust his posture, kneel up straighter than normal, and Peter _tsks_ for a moment before flipping him onto his back and positioning him on the bed. “That’s better. Would you like to get our boy ready, Christopher?”

“Hell, yes.” Chris’s voice has taken on that timbre that usually means he’s about five seconds away from blowing his load, and Stiles allows himself a smug grin. It’s nice to know he’s still got it.

And is about to get it.

Peter passes the lube to Chris who moves down the bed and settles himself between Stiles’s spread legs, putting his talented hands to work. Stiles closes his eyes and just lets himself enjoy the familiar feel of Chris pressing his thick fingers in and stretching him. He’s missed it, and he makes no secret of the fact, letting out increasingly louder whines and whimpers as Chris’s hands fill him up just right and hit that sweet spot inside of him. Stiles writhes and moans, his pleasure impossibly increased by the tightness of the corset restricting his breaths. Then Chris gets his mouth on Stiles’s cock, and it barely takes thirty seconds before an orgasm hits him out of nowhere, slamming through him without warning.

He might black out for a second, he’s not sure.

When he does open his eyes, Chris is lying next to him on the bed, almost hovering over him and looking distinctly like the cat that got the cream. Stiles guesses he did. Chris’s eyes crinkle in a way that’s unfairly attractive when his smile widens and he asks, “You okay, baby?”

“Never better.” He pulls Chris close for a kiss, tasting traces of himself. 

Chris takes the opportunity to gently tug at the laces on the back of Stiles’s vest, letting his fingers tangle in them. “Love this. You really gonna keep it on for me?”

Stiles stretches, making sure to give a sinuous twist to his hips. “Yep. But Peter’s right – he needs to fuck me open, so you’ll have to wait your turn.” He rolls towards where Peter’s on the other side of the bed, and looks at him through lowered lashes. “You want this, Alpha?”

“You’re a teasing little minx, did anyone ever tell you that?” Peter says, as he finally shucks out of his shirt and vest and undresses completely.

“I might have heard that before,” Stiles says with a grin. He settles himself on his hands and knees again, and Peter’s quick to slot between his legs and fuck into him in one smooth motion, making Stiles groan when he bottoms out. Peter’s careful to keep his movements controlled, and he wraps his hands around Stiles’s waist, holding him steady so he’s not too constricted by the corsetting. He works his cock in and out in short, powerful thrusts that feel amazing and have Stiles pressing back against him chasing more. He’s close again, and he has no intention of holding back.

A quick glance sideways shows Chris stroking himself furiously, his eyes fixed on where Peter’s fucking into Stiles. He’s dripping precome, his erection an angry red, and Stiles wants that cock, wants it in him, wants to feel that perfect thickness splitting him wide, but he needs Peter to come first, so he pulls out one of his favorite tricks. He clenches around Peter’s length and puts on a breathy voice. “Feel so good, pounding me so nice and deep. Come in me, Alpha? Fill me up?”

“Don’t worry sweet boy,” Peter pants out. “I’ll fill you up just right.”

Stiles know exactly what buttons to push. He moans out, “Gonna fuck me till I’m sloppy, get me all loose and wet and ready?”

Peter curses under his breath and slams home. Stiles feels wetness and warmth flood his insides, and his own cock throbs. Peter slumps against his back with a sigh, kissing the back of Stiles’s neck just above his collar. “As I said,” he breathes out. “Teasing little minx.”

“You love it.” Stiles lets Peter nuzzle at him for a little longer before squirming under his touch.

Peter takes the hint and ever so slowly pulls out with a wet squelch. He rolls over and sprawls on his side of the bed. “I’ve opened him up nicely for you, Christopher. Do you worst.”

Stiles spread his legs further and waggles his ass. “Go ahead, make me feel it.” Chris doesn’t hesitate. He scrambles into position and slots the head of his cock against Stiles’s ass, slides right in with a grunt and a sigh, and it’s so good, so right, everything Stiles has been missing. He’s _so fucking full_. Stiles lets out a guttural sound when Chris bottoms out, and Chris stills. Stiles whines. “Why are we stopping? I’m fine.”

Chris growls out, “You might be fine baby, but if you’re gonna make noises like that, this’ll be over before we start unless I take a minute.” Stiles knows Chris isn’t kidding, can sense it in the way he’s holding himself stock still, the way his cock’s throbbing and twitching inside him. He toys with the thought of making Chris lose control but abandons the idea. After all, then _he _won’t be getting fucked, and that’s a lose-lose situation as far as he’s concerned. So he stays still and quiet, waits patiently, and soon Chris starts to move, tiny rocking motions of his hips, barely-there thrusts that hardly count.

He slowly gathers speed, and before long he’s giving Stiles the kind of slow, deep fucking that he relishes. “Such a good boy, done up all pretty for me,” Chris croons, and something about the phrase makes Stiles blush and squirm. Chris _knows_ he loves being call a good boy, and he never fails to take advantage of it. Combined with the squeeze of the corset and the depth of his thrusts, it almost makes Stiles dizzy.

It takes him a moment to register that he actually _is_ dizzy. Chris has the fingers of one hand twisted in the lacing down the back of the corset, using it to anchor himself and pulling it tighter around Stiles’s ribcage, and the shallow breaths he’s taking aren’t enough to feed his body’s need for oxygen. Stiles whines, reaches behind himself one-handed, batting at the laces, and Chris picks up on what’s wrong immediately. Stiles feels a whisper of claws at the back of his neck, and then there’s a series of rapid snicking sounds as Chris slices through the laces in one quick motion.

Stiles sucks in a deep breath, chest heaving. It’s the first one since Peter laced him up, and it brings a surge of arousal that’s overpowering. He was already close, and his hips stutter as he comes without a hand on him, clenching around Chris’s cock as his own pulses and spurts. Chris continues to pound into him, chasing his own release. Stiles goes limp in his hold, lets Chris wrap his arms under his chest, pulling him backwards. Chris moves him around like a ragdoll, and Stiles lets him, closing his eyes, riding the aftershocks of his orgasm, and reveling in the glorious sensation of being utterly, blissfully fucked.

* * *

Peter’s always been a sneaky bastard, which is why he waits until he’s sucked Chris off one last time and reduced him to a fucked-out, boneless mess to prop himself on his elbows next to him, poke Chris in the chest, and demand that he tell them exactly what’s held his attention so thoroughly the last few weeks.

“You come home from work, grunt your way through dinner, and disappear into the office. And as much as I respect your right to privacy, it’s gotten beyond a joke. So tell me, what is it that’s so important?”

Chris lets out a sigh and extends his arms, drawing them both in close to him. “I had an idea. About the store. I just wanted to do some research before I floated it, and I guess I got carried away.”

“What’s the idea?” Stiles mumbles into Chris’s pec. Chris isn’t the only one who’s a boneless mess right now, but Stiles makes the effort to pay attention, because anything that has captured his husband’s interest is important.

“We’re too damn busy at work,” Chris starts.

“Agreed.” Peter nods for him to go on.

“So I was looking into maybe…opening a second store? We could hire staff, spread the workload. We’re doing well enough that it’s the next logical step. I’ve been scouting locations and doing the costings. And it took more time and effort than I thought.”

Peter blinks. “You – you did paperwork? You hate paperwork.”

Chris gives a lazy shrug. “Wanted to get all my ducks in a row, see if it was even feasible. And like I say, it got away from me. I got caught in my head.”

Stiles leans in and presses a kiss to Chris’s cheek. “Don’t do it again. I missed you. _We_ missed you.”

Peter kisses the other cheek. “We certainly did, darling.”

Chris makes a contented sound. “Yeah, point taken.”

They lay in satisfied silence for a while, before Stiles can’t help himself. “Do we want a second store though? That seems like it would be _more_ work, not less.”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Do we hire a manager for the second location, or do we split it between us and hire casuals? We have to balance cost effectiveness with quality control - ”

He’s cut off by Peter pressing a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture.

“Tomorrow. We look at it tomorrow,” Peter says firmly, and when Chris opens his mouth to argue, Peter shuts him up with a kiss.

* * *

These are just for your viewing pleasure.....

**<a href="https://innovacorsetry.com/products/corset-vest">Innova Corsetry</a>**


End file.
